


Awakening

by aegistheia



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime)
Genre: Adventure, Character Study, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, My Feels Let Me Show You Them, Worldbuilding, magical theory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegistheia/pseuds/aegistheia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how the war ends: with a bang, with a whimper, with a beginning.  Only, neither Haruka nor Michiru are prepared for what the aftermath of the end entails, because their solitary war doesn’t ever stop.  Doesn’t it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chokmah

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Spoilers up to the end of the Sailor Moon S (1994) anime arc. Epileptic tree equivalents of magical theories. Cheerfully irreverent mashups and blatant speculations of manga and anime.
> 
>  **Also Archived On:** [Livejournal](http://aegiscrypt.livejournal.com/tag/story:%20awakening); [Dreamwidth](http://aegiscrypt.dreamwidth.org/tag/story:+awakening).
> 
> Here is one last love song for the original anime adaptation, and a warm welcome for Sailor Moon Crystal, the 20th anniversary remake!

As far as races go, I’ve run easier ones.

Then again, I’ve run harder ones, too. It’s been a while since I’ve competed in touring races, so perhaps I’m just out of touch. But no matter how long it’s been, the quickening music stays the same: the lullaby of the banshee wind cocooning me, crooning in my ear, audible even through the shells of carbon fibre and plexiglass and steel.

_Run._

Two laps to go. I am third in the pack. The fifth strongest driver is leading the group, and the strongest – the strongest after me, that is – is currently in the best drafting edge of his wake. Fine. Let them waste their energies jousting for position; it will not matter when we enter the final lap, not with the looseness of the current formation and the ridiculous radii of their turns. There is no room for mistakes, not even in a race of this level, and the opportunities they are availing...no, this current crop of challengers is not a big concern. I can feel this truth in my bones, in the promise of victory whipping around us, a blade in every embrace.

We turn—

Gap!

—I’m halfway through the space before I can register my fingers twitch on the wheel. Four— three— two ahead of me. Three-quarters of a lap to go.

A quick shift midway through the straight stretch gains me and the best driver up a position from the fifth-best’s slipstream. Two turns and a straight stretch to go.

A drift, a bare slide of tires on tarmac, a stroke of the steering wheel—

None ahead of me.

One turn and a stretch to go.

The wind’s song is a shriek over the pounding of my heart as we barrel down the circuit. Black and white flash in my centre vision, uncompromising.

Win or lose, this is it.

This is—

_Run._

—Black and white, absolution between one breath and the next.

_Run._

Reality slams back into perception with the g-force as my body acts on instinct, brakes shuddering beneath my foot. This sensation, I’ll never grow tired of: the breath of freedom on my hair as I remove my helmet and open the canopy, the wall of noise crashing over me with staggering physicality. The burn of victory, heady and satisfying after a good drive and better wind. The ecstasy of the crowds as I turn to wave and blow kisses to a few of the more enthusiastic fans. The unmistakeable pressure of Michiru’s unseen smile that I can recognize even when lost and insensate. Like this, so caught up in the exhilaration, I can almost forget the boundaries of my body.

How can anybody ever tire of this?

My pit crew is hopping in their stations with blinding grins all around. The crew chief takes my helmet thrust to his belly with a laugh as good-natured as his personality. “Go on,” Tanaka-san rumbles, punctuating with an affectionate pat on my back that just about sends me reeling, “the lady’s waiting.”

“I’ll be leaving the follow-up in your capable hands as usual,” I shout over the din. The rest of my crew gesture their own congratulations and dismissal, well used to my habits by now. They’re a lovely bunch, my handpicked professionals; carefully screened and even more carefully regulated by Tanaka-san as they are, I’d keep them for the duration of my semi-pro career if I could.

The award ceremony is thankfully brief. My competitors are also thankfully mature enough to display admirable sportsmanship – a statement I unfortunately cannot apply to the last few races I’ve participated in – and let me go without more fuss than a few hard handshakes and grumbles about next time. The most thankful part of the entire spectacle, though, is the glory that times her entrance with impeccable showmanship. Winds, the cheers for her is almost louder than when they’d been for _me_. I don’t blame them; Michiru is particularly stunning in that shade of red.

Michiru graces us with her performer’s smile – the sighs very nearly raise a wind of their own – and turns towards the exit with a bare flicker of a glance. I follow. Of course I follow.

“Time to go,” she says, quite needlessly, when I draw even with her. She hands me my bag and accepts a pressed kiss to her hair in exchange, to raucous background cheer. “The helicopter is cleared to pick us up in the medics’ landing field.”

“What’s next?”

“More practice, for you.” I pout; she smiles pleasantly, undaunted. “That was only your third-fastest time on this circuit, wasn’t it?” She makes a judging sound against her teeth. “You may offer great entertainment, but today was far from your best performance. You’re losing your edge, Haruka.”

“Losing my edge! No, no, I’m in fine form. You’re just particularly distracting today,” I reassure her. She gives me an arch glance, but her twitching smile betrays her appreciative amusement. “Just like the first time we’d met.”

“I wasn’t distracting you then,” she replies, “the wind was.”

“Well, that too, but since when have you ever not been distracting?”

She rewards me with a laugh and a kiss on the cheek, all without breaking pace. Behind us, the avid audience collectively sighs again, like a breaking wave. As always, Michiru is a miracle of rhythm. It’s hard to believe that there was once a time when she hadn’t been so masterful.

It’s hard to believe that we’d won this battle, that we’d not failed our duties after all that we’d done...

Ask Michiru about her first days, and if she deems the inquirer worthy of an answer, she’d claim that they weren’t hard, not precisely. Discovering the extent and limitations of her powers wasn’t the challenge, no; she had to come to terms with what she had to do for the sake of the Earth. Of course, that was emotionally painful, but after she’d accepted it she was all right. She’d known what would come with her fate, and she is one of the most self-sacrificial people I will ever know.

She is also a brilliant liar and an even more brilliant secret-keeper. But don’t tell her I said that.

Ask me, and I’d say that my first days were confusing as hell. I was luckier than Michiru, as I had her to watch over my first transformation; if she hadn’t I would probably have accidentally destroyed the garage. As it was, the first thing she’d taught me was how to release the power, and I had then ended up winning that race, my second-best time— but I digress. I would have said that my first few days were confusing as hell, like asking a novice to recalibrate the spring rate of my custom racer’s suspensions, but after learning the beginner’s ropes and watching Michiru demonstrate and work, I was eventually all right too.

If I’d answer with more comprehensive honesty, I’d say that my first days were frightening and exhilarating at once. I had no lucid idea of the scope of what in which I was involving myself. My first night after, the clearest thing I remember was waking up and hearing the winds sing, and realizing that they had a language, a chiming rhythm of meaning I can finally decipher: _our child is awoken, our child is awoken, hallelujah_.

_Run..._

I hadn’t understood why they were singing that, though. But I won’t tell anybody that. I won’t have to.

I wasn’t reborn that night. But I’d learned how to fight again, how to truly fight, how to make a difference, so it’s close enough. It’s enough for me to walk beside Michiru, shadow overlapping shadow, into the dark.

(If I’d answer with even more comprehensive honesty, I would only choke, and nobody would know because the silence would be all they could hear. But neither Michiru nor I have ever needed words, when it comes to this between us.)

Still, words are a comfort, in the razor-edge path of our destiny. “So? What did you find?”

“Nothing major.” She tucks back a lock of wayward hair, eyes thoughtful. She moves like a panther, predatory in the artifice of the garages; people part way for her without question. “It will heal without issues.”

I’m almost startled by the sudden sweet release of my shoulders loosening. The grove at the northwestern end of the arena grounds makes beautiful music with the wind, music so aching that I’d heard it over the roar of engines the first time I’d set wheels on this circuit. It would have been a pity to... “Wait. ‘Will heal’?”

“There was a minor taint. I was more than sufficient to cleanse it.”

“I see.” The sour aftertaste of an abrupt adrenaline rush makes my mouth twist. In a race, it is a nostalgic reminder of transience; in a situation like this, it is anything but. “Think we’ve dealt with everything urgent here?”

“The oceans aren’t restless.”

“And the wind isn’t roiling.” For now.

There’s nothing to be done but to weigh our own silences and instincts. The moment we reach our conclusion, the same conclusion, undoubtedly, is almost palpable in the civilian mundanity of our ignorant surroundings. “I suppose we’ll sleep on it?” Michiru offers.

“I like your decisions,” I murmur, earning myself a noise that would have been a snort from anybody else. Well, excuse me, but I can’t help it; how do you relish the freedom to delay a decision that doesn’t need to be made instantly when every aspect of your choice on the battlefield mere weeks ago had mattered?

Before, I would have called it cowardice, or foolishness. Now...

It’s not that Michiru and I were weak when we decided to do anything we had to do for the sake of the world, better or harder solutions be damned. It’s not that we weren’t strong enough when we decided that we wouldn’t mind dying for the world rather than fighting to live for it. It’s not that we cracked under the weight of our mission. We had each other, so we didn’t break. Not yet. Not yet. So no, it’s not that.

We are no saints. We are pillagers of hearts and utilitarian wielders of the kind of violence that human instinct fears in its core. We’d had blood on our hands before we’d begun by virtue of our willingness to kill the people we’d sworn to protect to save the rest of them. No, we are not innocent.

Tell me, though. If you had opened your eyes to a red world of sandstone and glass, and turned to watch a typhoon threaten landfall, if you had to spectate the unmoving citizens of this here good planet stand as leaves to a pyre, if you had the wind at your back and a cliff at your feet, if you had the inevitability of destruction searing through your every breath and the hand to nudge at its direction... If you had to make the call, what would you do? Not what you would choose to do if there were options A to F, what you think is the right thing to do— what would you _do_? How do you find answers? How do you find _questions_? What – who – would you believe is trustworthy, is just, is right? Will it win a war?

What do you do?

Tell me, how blind are we? Because Michiru is even more clear-sighted than I am, and I’d thought we could see everything then. We believed in our _modus operandi_ , full stop, no excuses or justifications or anything so trite as sorrow. There had been no time left for anything but action. We had never been so free, in our crusade.

Are we bitter? That we had to give up almost everything? No. But don’t take my word for it. There is a reason why we hadn’t taken up our soldiers’ mantles the moment the requiem had started to play when we shut our eyes.

Now, every new day of our lives is the day that the world may end. There’s no time left, for us. But for today, that’s all right. We just need to fight for one more second, one second at a time.

Don’t take my word for it. One day, even I will believe it myself. Until then, we walk on, Michiru by my side and I by hers.

One step at a time.

The helicopter descends; we board. The helicopter ascends; we go.

One step at a time.


	2. Binah

The concept of Michiru and me as a unit came to us in a path more meandering than the Milky Way’s shadow over the Earth.  We don’t talk about it much, if at all.  How to explain?

Consider that art, especially when commercialized, is all about communication.  It’s a root of the truth that drives society to consider Michiru a genius, and it’s not a root easily noticed.  Why would anybody care, with all the flamboyance and the response and the intrinsic value and the money being generated and exchanged?

In another vein, I speak of our partnership because I am allowed to do so by Michiru’s tolerant grace.  Michiru speaks for me for much the same reasons, of course, but in reality she speaks for me far more than I can ever for her.  I don’t mind.  She perceives much, sometimes too much, and she knows how to use it.

Do you see, now?

It goes the other way, too.  For as long as I’ve known her, Michiru has possessed impeccable control of her self-expression.  She would, to be the master that she is of the skills she exhibits, at the flourish of her paintbrush, at the jeté of her bow, at the downstroke of her dive.  She, more than anyone, knows the messages that her body telegraphs, the signals that different kinds of people can derive.  It’s how she has kept nearly everyone blinded to her true nature, despite her public profile and professional fame.

It’s just too bad that none of this is distracting me from the fact that Michiru isn’t saying anything now.  Her grip on my hand screams of nothing but terror.

Meiou Setsuna sets the helicopter onto the helipad of my apartment building in the Mugen campus as though she is demonstrating a textbook landing.  We haven’t exchanged more than a few dozen words since she’d arrived to unlock the Holy Grail, and already I feel as though we’d grown up together, our relationship forged in a muddle of love and dislike and sheer inimitable familiarity.  I’m still somehow wholly unsurprised by the fact that she has yet to release her transformation, the garnet of her gaze echoed at her ears and throat.

But that’s the kick in the teeth, isn’t it, that colour?  Sailor Pluto has very frightening eyes.  If you look closely enough, you would realize that they have neither a bottom nor an echo.  Not even the ghost-orb of her staff is so depthless, though its reach is even deeper, if I let it—

 _No._   No.  Denying its beckon feels as though I’m mentally wrenching something out of its socket, but— No.  It calls to a part of me that isn’t _me_ , Tenou Haruka, trembling in her seat beside her partner.  It’s too much to take after everything tonight—

“I will see you later,” Setsuna says, in the strange, soft way she has for declaring everything, the same satin-matte finish to her eyes that stops questions before they begin to form.

Michiru nods, a brisk dismissal, and drags me out of the aircraft before I can do more than gesture my thanks.  The last glimpse I catch of Setsuna’s expression is one utterly devoid of surprise; then I am pulled through the door of the roof and the accelerating whirl of the helicopter’s blades is cut off with the slam.

Michiru releases her transformation midway down the last flight of stairs.  The backlash of receding power is enough to trigger mine; the glow of my uniform’s dissolution has barely faded before we hurtle out of the stairwell and into the public hallway. I fumble for my keys as Michiru hauls me forward with unforgiving strength.  Should I not be prepared for unlocking my unit when we finally arrive Michiru will plough us straight through the door, so it’s with no small amount of relief that I do manage to have the proper key arranged in the right orientation by the time I’m towed within reach of the keyhole.  A twist, a push, and we’re stumbling across the _genkan_.

Michiru is suddenly flush against me, aqua eyes too deep and too magnetic.  I bend down to kiss her, and she shoves me against the door.  Her hands are bruisingly, wonderfully tight against my arms, more real than the crash of the door as it closes at my back.  She bites at my lips, ferocity overwhelming feelings, inexorable as the tides.

We break apart only when we’re about to drown, maelstrom attraction throwing the last few hours into stark, bloodless focus.  We have never been more alive.  “Michiru,” I murmur, hoarse, the taste of her amplified by the hurricane pulse beating in my mouth, constricting my throat, “oh, Michiru.”

She puts both hands on my face and laughs so painfully that my heart wrenches.  “I thought I’d lost you.”  The tears that she aren’t crying are thick in her voice.  “I thought I’d finally lost you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of dying after you.”

My grip on her wrists tighten until my fingers protest against the force.  I must be hurting her if I’m hurting myself, but her eyes are steady and her hands are still firm against me.  “We are so very contrary,” I tell her wearily, “as soldiers of war.”

She laughs again, bitter humour.  “I thought I’d led you to choices that had stripped you of all your innocence,” she says very softly.  “I thought Eudial had made the worst mistake of her life about the Talismans’ carriers, when I looked up and saw her gun on your chest.  I never thought—”

“—that we’d be pure enough to carry them within us,” I finish as she chokes.  Between the two of us I’m the one who actually cries more, and I—  My killing urge roars to full throttle once more.  Never, never, battles were supposed to end with us— not whole, maybe, but not like this.

“No,” she says violently.  “You are purer than you think—”

“Stop it.”  The viciousness in my voice almost takes me by surprise.  The next time I encounter Eudial, I will destroy her.  “Stop it, Michiru.  I chose my perspective of my own free will.  Do not belittle me or yourself about this.”

“And even then, I don’t think I would have regretted it if you didn’t have a Heart Crystal,” she continues like I hadn’t interrupted, and then she’s weeping, weeping harder than I’ve ever seen her, “I thought— if you’ve chosen, if I’m not alone just for a little while, then I can accept what my duty will have me do, I can accept what— what our duty will have you become. Haruka, my dear, oh, I—”

I kiss her as fiercely as I can.  Michiru, Michiru, heart of my hearts, I can’t even do anything for you.  “I thought the same,” I whisper, the words burning my tongue even as I let them spill out into the scant space between us, “I thought the same, because I’ve met you, and if we had each other for just a fraction of a heartbeat in the history of the universe then it wouldn’t matter if we were the greatest sinners in the world—”

We’re both crying now, tears intermingling as we trade kisses in between gasping words and frantic guilt and love that is too much for our hearts to hold.  It’s desperately intimate, the presence of a fellow human being who understands and accepts when all the shields are down and every sin is on display.  We are selfish and imperfect and _we are alive_.  We will not apologize for any of it.

“I would have given you up for the world,” I murmur into her hair, sacrosanct and desecrated, “and when my duty is done, I would have followed you.”

It is only almost true, for her as well as for me, but the way her body shivers against mine is answer enough.

We stay like that for uncountable minutes, slumped together against the door, breathing each other in with the only reassurance we can give.  “We have to stop,” Michiru finally sighs, reluctance in every flinch of her strength.  “Our mission—”

“—Is not yet complete.”  I kiss her hair, aching.  The Holy Grail’s appearance without the Messiah of Light to wield it means that the war has only just – finally, properly – started.  And yet, our fine focus, shattered by one mere attack...  “If we ever complete it and come out alive, then...”

Michiru laughs, weaker than starlight on a cloudy night.  “Come now, we’ve overindulged already.  Let’s not let our imaginations wander any further.”

“They’re not wandering,” I say, soft as the flutter of her lashes against my skin, “and you know it.”

Michiru sighs again.  “I know.  Let’s go to bed, Haruka, my dear.  We could do with some sleep.”

“Sleep,” I echo dully.  My body hurts, its compiled list of injuries clawing at my guard to present the bill, but their sum total is nowhere close to the agony in my chest.  The cathedral’s intricate rose window is a sacred afterimage carved into my retinas still, the shapes warped and colours defiled, the reverberation of organic music dragging my breath out with its spiritual abandon.  “If I wake you tonight, I am sorry.”

Michiru draws away with an equally faded smile.  “And I, the same,” she replies, leading me to our blessedly clean bed.

It has not been long, relatively speaking, since we had started to share a bed.  I can barely remember the first night Michiru had suggested it, mostly because that day’s battles had so worn me I would have collapsed onto my knees if I had had to stand for five minutes longer.  So, like the suave charmer I am, I’d gaped at her like a beached fish until my sleepwalking brain could wake up sufficiently to croak an appropriate inquiry.  It just goes to show for something, I think, that the clearest part of my memories for that evening had been her answer, diffident and almost vulnerable: “I would have your back, as you would have mine.”

Michiru had smiled then, tired and beautiful, and oh, winds, it will never be possible for me to possess the strength to resist her.

Still, for the first few months, we’d been unable to fall asleep until well into the dregs of the night.  I had felt Michiru’s wakefulness like a physical touch at my side.  It hadn’t been until our twenty-third battle together within as many weeks of our partnership when we’d finally discovered the rhythm that pulsed like a living thing between us, in midst of our battle focus and out of it, the trust to let enough go in each other’s company.

Why had we persisted in sleeping beside each other – or trying to do so – despite our miserable failure for so long?  I think it came down to simple need.  We face our own hells and our own paths alone, but sometimes, it’s not enough.  We knew we needed somebody to— to _something_ , anything, and we had no better option.  We had no options at all.  So, we chose sleeplessness until sleep came.  We knew well the consequences; during those long weeks, between our cumulative battle wounds we must have funded three pharmacies through their quarterly sales targets.  We chose anyway.

And so we will keep choosing.  We know we will not sleep well tonight.  But in spite of this, in spite of everything, we will sleep, and we will wake again to fight.  I sink down, and—

—Michiru is a solid burn over me, whispering into my neck.

I take a breath.  It sounds oddly like a sob.

“You’ve woken up.”  She tilts her head up to look at me.  “That nightmare again?”

“No.”  Not the one where I stand by, a mute slip of screaming conscience, as the world shatters around me to the beat of my pulse.  Although that particular dreamscape no longer wields the same sense of foreboding that had haunted me before the Messiah came to power, sometimes my mind revisits it and my body just reacts.  “Not that.”

“Then,” she presses close; I have never been more thankful for the offered companionship, “what did you see, that has made your heart thunder so?”

A few seconds of quiet, just to breathe.  “A memory.”

Michiru’s body is blood-warm and blood-silent by my side, through the thin silk of her gown.

“A memory of that night, that— that— when we nearly died, as partners—”

“It’s all right,” she interrupts, gentle as the salt on a sea breeze, as if she could hear the way my throat is closing by the clench of my fist over her heart, “it’s all right.”

A breath.  Another. “Sometimes, I think I might like to dream normally again.”

“It’s not like you,” she murmurs.

“It’s completely unlike me.” I stare up into the ceiling as if it holds more answers than a bottle of sake. As if Michiru hadn’t woken me up last night with her moans, fear-sweat darkening her hair and sheening the horror in her expression. As if I hadn’t been jerking out of my sleep for the last few weeks, iron on my tongue from the cheek I’d bitten through. As if Michiru hadn’t stared into mirrors since we’d leaned back from the edge of apocalypse with the resignation of a precognitive just aware enough of what has been to touch upon the shape of what could be. As if we hadn’t noticed the disquiet surrounding us like an impending infarction.

As if we hadn’t been wondering the same thing scarce days since we’d won our battle: did we leave the district too soon?  Have we damned the victory, overlooked a seed we should have destroyed before it could breathe?  Would we find something worse than what Michiru had stopped in that copse of trees of my first awakening?

Did we fail again?

It’s hard to talk about loss, and not just for the reasons you think.  Loss takes on uncountable dimensions, because loss itself is a personal relation.  Before, I could tell you with high confidence that my inability to find something to assuage my boredom is the biggest wound I cannot heal.  I could tell you that I was young and stupid and wholly unsympathetic: I wanted to be with the wind.  I wanted to become the wind.  Why would I look back?  Why would the wind settle for being anything less than whole?

The truth of it is that I’d known, even then, that transcendence of my own humanity would have been the only way to escape a fate I did not want to face, in the same way a slight shift in angular velocity at the approach of a turn can make or break the outcome of a race.  The truth of it is that I’d lost long before I’d even reached the starting line.  The truth of it is that you need to learn how to lose to win.  The truth of it is that every lesson is different.

The truth is that some lessons should never be learned.

Do you see?

The truth that matters right now, the truth in bed with us, is that we the both of us have never handled self-doubt with poise.  That said, if there is only one lesson that Michiru can claim to have taught me with any degree of success, it is how to extend my version of grace.  “I wonder how that little town is recovering in that wake of destruction.”

She smiles in reply, rueful.  “Would you like to observe with your own two eyes?  It’s not like we have anything better to do quite yet.”

“Why not?  I can do with a change in scenery.  This sleepy district is boring.”  The race has finished, the prize money paid out, the contracts accepted and declined—  We are very good at feigning nonchalance when the occasion calls for it.  The wound on the world is still tender; the words beneath our mutual script can pry open the stitches better than sticks and stones ever will.  “Meeting the lovely ladies again will be a treat for us poor souls.”

“A balm,” she corrects.

I can only smile.  She’s right, after all.

 

\-----

 

As it is, it takes the better part of the next day to finalize our arrangements for the impromptu trip.

Still, as the familiar horizon of glittering buildings and skeletal skyscrapers loom into focus, I find my hands tightening on the steering wheel.  “I honestly didn’t expect to be returning so soon.  After everything.”

Michiru makes an acquiescing sound in her throat.  “And the gas prices are so high around this area, too.”

“Especially that!  I might have to start charging you for the rides.”

“Like I might have to start charging you for residency too?  Arranging for proper caretaking of my unoccupied apartments are a very large hidden cost, you realize.”

I make a face at the freeway.  “You strike hard deals.”

“Necessities due to the current economy,” she assures breezily.  The sliver of her smirk is just visible from the corner of my eye.  “Do you know how many apartment buildings in the district maintain access to a private helipad?  My financial situation requires that I acquire some extra bedding before my nest egg is comfortably warm.”

“Ah, to think that I would spend my life with a woman who would choose her nest egg over my handsome self,” I lament.  “Such epic tragedies are worthy of paeans—”

“Considering how your nest egg is currently larger than mine, I see no grounds upon which you can complain.”

“Larger by the paltry thousand yen of that last bit of winnings, perhaps—”

“Incremental differences that can and will gather momentum when the stock market resumes trading tomorrow morning—”

The setting sun is a hazy presence to our side, the wind in her hair and the sea in my ears as we speed down the asphalt.  Soon we’ll find what we’re looking for.


	3. Daath

Sleeping in a healing city is an odd affair, to say the least. Azabu-Juuban isn’t a mystically peaceful environment by any means, not when the fabric of the world still bleeds so, but I am somewhat more rested than the night before. Perhaps I feel steadier when I know there’s a fight to be had?

Michiru makes a suspiciously disparaging sound. “Much as I agree with your assessment that you’re an adrenaline junkie at heart, I think it’s just the city’s peculiar aura, combined with the fact that we are now where we should be.”

“You are far more effective and less expensive than any therapist who can be had in all of Japan,” I inform her.

She smiles demurely, almost distracting me from her dress, a floating concoction of peach muslin that sets off her hair more nicely than I’m willing to admit aloud. At least, admit in public. “You know this for a fact? The therapists you have met must not be very good, then. You are not so obscure to the gaze, Haruka.”

...Perhaps a small concession – of sorts; after all, one must have some standards – will be of no harm. I reel her to my side; she settles against me readily. “Shouldn’t I be the one to tell you that?”

“Ah, but you already tell me that on a nightly basis, do you not?”

She leans closer. I can feel her smile widen. “Tease,” I murmur affectionately. “You really did choose your dress just for this occasion.”

“You love it,” she replies, breath so warm on my skin it might as well be a kiss. “You love how all the men stare at you and wish they were you, wish they could be worthy of me.”

“And you love how all the women stare at _you_ in envy. Don’t you take the high ground now.”

“What high ground? We’re hardly unequal, unless you admit to some inferiority to me.”

I curve an arm around her waist and she obligingly shifts in accommodation. It’s a classic setup for a salsa dip, but I doubt the original dancers had intended its use for something as wicked as relentless flirting in front of conservative audiences. Or perhaps that was their express purpose of creation. “You are impossible.”

“Part of my charm.” Her eyes glitter. “Ah, see, with just a little bit of effort you can be convinced to speak of feelings and romance on a busy Japanese street! We have hope for you yet.”

“You’ve been playing too many Romantic pieces,” I grumble. “One day you will regret toying with my restraint.”

She smiles and becomes a Renaissance statue, perfectly proportioned and untouchable and cold. “You presume I care about what the others think of us.”

My eyebrow raises of its own accord. “You presume _I_ care?”

She beams. “Good! Then I presume you won’t care when I take the car for the afternoon.”

“Oi, oi, a unilateral decision before another look at the rest of our errands? I expect better of you after tea.”

“Don’t be silly, you know my memory is nearly eidetic.” She retrieves the list from her bag anyway. “If you don’t mind taking care of the book purchases, I will keep my appointment with the banker and go to the violin shop.”

“It’s fine. I’m in need a new lap warmer. I finished _Lolita_ three weeks ago, and the translation of _Siddhartha_ that I have reads rather emptier than I’d expected.”

Michiru scans over the list once more, then nods. “Then I’ll drop you off at the bookstore on my way to the shop.”

“All right.” Giving in, I let a slow grin curl my mouth. “How about a wager? The last to stakeout pays for the books.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You’d better come to the bank with me, then. You know I like my books to be paid for in cash.”

“Hah! Don’t you start setting the winning terms when the start line hasn’t even been drawn.”

“All that matters is the finish line,” she replies, but her pupils flare even before she manages to finish her answer. Still, it’s too late; the sober silence this draws from us unravels beyond our reach.

At length, I crack a smile. “That’s one way to look at it. Besides,” I add, almost offhandedly, as if the tension between us isn’t thick enough to taste, “we do not race to lose.”

She smiles equally tightly at that. “Who does? No matter. I will see you later where I will, my dear.”

We did not use to follow parting traditions with each other, but, oh, how we have learned.

She unlocks the car door. We spend the ride in silence.

 

\-----

 

The bookstore has not changed much, which is a completely expected and yet oddly comforting discovery.

That is not to say that the arrangements have remained untouched. For some reason, the compilation of Tartini’s string concertos are shelved adjacent to the philosophy section. As tempting as it is to pick up Nietzsche – who is currently the feature author being promoted – I’m not in the mood for nihilistic or existential crises. Maybe amongst the more modern novels—

“...Haruka-san?”

I blink once at Murakami’s portrait – he stares back at me, equally nonplussed – then turn. “Ami-chan!”

At least she looks more taken aback than I feel. “You’re back in town!”

 _South of the Border, West of the Sun_ it is. “For a little while, yes. Are you purchasing books here as well?” She bobs her head, lifting her armful in response. Medical texts, all of them. I can only shake my head. “I marvel at your ability to squeeze attention into understanding those monsters during your break from school.”

“They’re interesting,” she protests, “and useful!”

“Not if I can’t figure out what language they’re using,” I remark drily, brushing past her to head towards the cashier’s desk. Ami laughs as she follows.

Our small talk with books continue well after we leave the bookstore. She inquires politely after my future plans, and I discover one question later that she herself has nothing immediate scheduled. This segues neatly into an invitation for a quiet stroll to the park, one that she accepts with coloured cheeks. Oh, I have forgotten how very cute they can be.

Despite the refreshing evening air, the park is nearly devoid of people. Unsurprising, but unexpectedly relieving. Much like the bookstore. Perhaps I have missed this little town more than I have let myself admit.

Coupled with Ami’s remarkable social graces, we get along swimmingly. I tell her about my latest circuit; she tells me about their academic adventures. The girls have apparently finished exams without complications more serious than a traffic jam caused by an ashen snowfall, and nobody has failed more than three subjects. I don’t think I am imagining the faint air of grim satisfaction in Ami’s voice as she describes the despairing determination in their final study sessions. “It’s important to do well in school,” she insists, “especially if you want to do well in the future.”

“A worthy sentiment!” How heartwarming. She’s held onto that core of self-confidence she’d found within herself. “It’s good to see you so passionate, Ami-chan. It’s an honour, to be treated to such a rare sight.”

“You helped me find myself. You and Michiru-san. And you would understand passion, I think, passion and dreams.”

“Ah, no. Dreams and passions are in the domain of you girls. I am but a mere spectator of your joy.”

Ami stares at me for a long moment. “Haruka-san,” she finally says, hesitant, “can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course!” I give her my best smile. “Though whether or not you’ll receive an answer is a different matter.”

She blushes, but visibly marshals herself. “Why did you give up your dream of making your living as a professional racer? You sounded so happy when you were telling me how you just won your last competition.”

Technically, I’m already fulfilling it in some manner... “Probably because I thought that the impending end of the world required too much of my attention.”

“And now?”

I glance at her, surprised. “We keep watch in preparation for the next invasion, of course.”

“It’s our duty to protect Usagi-chan,” Ami remarks, “but that doesn’t stop any of us from pursuing our own dreams.”

A tempting reply would be to point out that protecting one girl is easier than protecting a Solar System, but Usagi is also the future Queen of the Silver Millennium, which rather alters the scales. “Then I suppose that is where our paths diverge.”

Ami looks rather ill at ease. “And you would keep walking on the same path, even when the environments and possibilities allow you to take a different one?”

“Our mission does not change in times of peace or war.” The look I throw at her is sharper than I’d meant. “Don’t worry. We do not regret.”

“That’s not regret,” she protests. “That’s adaptation to external forces.”

“Our duty demands nothing less.” Unbidden, my eyes search out the blur where the treetops meet the sky. “For us, that’s not adaptation. That’s integrity.”

“Can’t they be complementary? Mamoru-san will be King, but he can still be a doctor, too.” She tilts her head, delicate and pleading, and she is lovely for it. “You can be like that as well.”

What marvelous faith in Chiba Mamoru’s abilities, and mine. I shake my head. “And if one could only be one?”

Ami looks even more unsettled. “I— I’ve been thinking on that,” she admits, eyes lowered. “But, Haruka-san!” When she looks up, her eyes are flint. “If you could, then why not try for both?”

“Some dreams are best left unfulfilled,” I tell her, not unkindly. “The fables of people dying of broken hearts are based in truths.” A dream half-fulfilled can as good – or as bad – as a dream unfulfilled. What could have been has always been the most intoxicating of drugs, and I am not fond of relearning lessons for which I had already paid.

“You are too strong to die of that, Haruka-san.” Ami is frowning with an assertion fortified by the steel core within her. She really should show this side of her more often. Her cheeks redden again when I tell her so. “Haruka-san! Don’t distract me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ami-chan. We have our own paths to walk, and you have yours. We can hardly compare.”

_...there._

“Though,” I continue, standing up and setting my feet, “our paths do happen to run parallel for now. Uranus Planet Power!”

Ami has left her books on the bench and is looking wildly around when I take stock of the situation again. It’s a telling sign, really, that I’m transformed before trouble hits when she and her cohorts wait for it to show its nature first. “Trust your instincts and use your pen, damn it!”

Somehow, she manages to yank her eyes off the misshapen shape growing in the horizon to stare at me. “But I— the people—”

“The park is nearly empty for a reason!” I loop a hurried arm around Ami and leap away as the first attack screams into earshot. “Do you really think humans have that terrible an instinct? Why do you think you’ve been steeling yourself the entire time we’ve been talking? _Transform!_ ”

She finally takes out her pen. This is both a blessing and a curse, as the creature lunges just when Ami is surrounded by light. I can’t move or I’ll leave her defenceless in mid-transformation; World Shaking is already ripping out of my hand at the edge of that thought. I recover my footing as the creature takes the impact with barely a flinch, _what_ —

Tidal waters toss the wretched thing straight out of its trajectory with a heart-stopping roar.

“Good shot,” I call. Michiru flashes a look at me, braced with all the fury of the primordial seas, that makes my heart leap. Battlelust crashes between us; the air thins out from my lungs, stretching from my skin, every movement a flicker of power. We breathe, and are one.

She’s bought time for me to actually take a longer look at our target, but I almost wish I didn’t have to. It’s a sorry thing, more shadowform than solid in a way that makes the eye ache. The malice rolling from it is staggering, all the more still that it bears no tang of the foreign space beyond the solar system. Earth itself is capable of spawning such monsters?

Sailor Mercury takes this moment to sink into a stance of stone and launch a hair-raising flurry. The creature pauses to shake the sleet off, and lets out a cross between a combusting engine and a very grouchy gearbox giving up the ghost.

Michiru and I lock eyes for a moment. Water. It’s weak to water. I’d fare better as backup.

“Sailor Mercury,” Michiru snaps without breaking stride as we trade positions. “Prepare to attack again.”

“What—” Sailor Mercury turns in time with me to catch the beginnings of Deep Submerge— aimed straight at her. Michiru—?! “ _Neptune!_ ”

“You don’t have enough power!” Michiru shouts. The water roils in her hands as it gathers force. “Prepare to attack, Sailor Mercury!”

I stare at the spinning orb as it gains speed. Surely Michiru knows what she’s doing, because it’s already whipping towards Sailor Mercury and I’ve long lost my chance to knock her out of the way—

—And the orb of water _disintegrates_.

“Shine Aqua Illusion!”

The cascade that streams from the remains of Deep Submerge to augment Sailor Mercury’s blast engulfs the indubitable spectacle of my jaw gently dropping open.

Crashing in the trees, a flash of unnatural green—

Sailor Jupiter has just scaled fifteen feet into a tree at the border of the tree line, and I hadn’t felt her approach until it was almost too late. The sky take me, but maybe Michiru does have a point about my dulling edge. “You’re late, Sailor Jupiter!”

“I’m just on time,” Sailor Jupiter corrects curtly. She is firmly focused on the thrashing creature, but the weight of her tendril consideration presses upon me a physical pressure. _Friend or foe?_

Simplify in battle. _Friend_. Sailor Jupiter’s wary aggression relaxes in time for Sailor Mercury’s final moves to complete, as the vestiges of her offence seals the creature in a glimmering, unseasonal block of crystal.

A lull. My battle focus dilates momentarily, enough for me to seize a breath and let some tension out with it. Michiru’s walking up to Sailor Mercury; in her hands glitters the Deep Aqua Mirror, and—

 _Oh_.

“As expected of one of the most brilliant students in Juuban,” Michiru approves.

Sailor Mercury flushes. “As expected of one of the most brilliant students in Mugen,” she replies shyly. Michiru smiles, and she flushes harder. If she turns any redder I might start to get concerned for her capillaries.

“I hate to interrupt such an inspiring round of flirtation,” I call, “but you may want to pick a better setting for your first date.”

The monster kindly punctuates me by announcing its freed head and arm with a pained bellow.

“And audience,” I add.

“Only you would even consider this eligible for consideration as a date,” Michiru chides as she retreats, dragging Sailor Mercury back by her arm. “I see we still have much to work on in terms of taste.”

“After such a long-distance relationship, it’s best to take what you can get—” Another earth-splitting crack; its deformed torso struggles free of its frozen cage. “We need a distraction.”

“On it.” A spider web of electricity drags the monster’s attention towards us, at the other end of the park. Sailor Jupiter snarls something very rude and readies another attack. “Don’t burn easily, do you? Aren’t you strong, freak—”

“Your attack alone won’t work,” I warn.

“I figured. Sailor Mercury, liquefy the ice!”

It takes but a glance and a gesture from Sailor Mercury for the rest of the ice imprisoning the monster’s legs to melt. “Sabão Spray!” The sight is decidedly strange; the puddling water mists and aggregates into a surrounding glove dense enough to have a visible meniscus. It is not quite unlike watching a waterfall flow upwards.

“Out of the way!” Sailor Jupiter leaps from her perch with the midday sun crackling in her grasp, stretching into a breakneck sprint that has my nerves cooing to join her. “Sparkling Wide Pressure!”

I watch, half-shielding myself, as the water refracts the electric bomb like a supernova. The monster’s dying shriek shakes the marrow in my bones, needlepoint fine and wrenching. It has not yet fully collapsed before it scatters away in a fine dusting of ash.

Behind me, Sailor Jupiter sighs. “So it works.”

“Live testing, are we?” I drawl, a touch more acridly than usual. Sailor Jupiter shrugs, but has the grace to blush.

“Sailor Jupiter!” Sailor Mercury hurries over. “How is the situation?”

“Everything’s under control. Welcome back, Sailor Uranus, Sailor Neptune. We’d have prepared a warmer welcome if we’d known ahead of time.”

The glance Michiru and I exchange is swift, but more than enough. “It's good to be back, Sailor Jupiter. Where’s the rest of your team?”

Sailor Jupiter’s shoulders pull taut, but it’s Sailor Mercury’s flinch that gives them away. “They’re not here,” Sailor Jupiter says, eyes as evasive as her words.

“Do you mean to say that Sailor Moon doesn’t know about this assault?” Michiru crosses her arms in vague surprise.

“Please don’t tell her,” Sailor Mercury bursts. Sailor Jupiter jumps and lays a hand on her arm, but she should have known that it would have been useless. Running water’s not stopped so easily. “We fight to protect the world, and to protect her too, don’t we? But she’s fought so hard for the world, and we could do so little. At least this... if we could push our own limits... We want to give her time to... to rest.”

I sigh. At least they’ve tried. “She’s at the Hikawa Shrine, isn’t she?”

Sailor Jupiter frowns. “I’m not sure.”

Sailor Mercury, though, is staring at us, sweet, naïve girl that she is. “How did you know?”

“Magical pollution, no matter how insignificant, isn’t easily hidden unless there’s another, more powerful aura to saturate the senses. For example, holy ground.” Michiru smiles, enigmatic. “Those familiar with a particular aura can use it to heighten their sensitivities to fluctuations beyond its influence. For outsiders, though... it’s as easy to muffle their senses as it is to magnify—”

“And a powerful shrine maiden on home ground is well-equipped, to speak nothing of skill,” Sailor Jupiter cuts in, face dark with something akin to anxiety. “Please. Don’t involve her in issues as minor as this.”

“Do you not trust her to be able to handle herself?” I ask, almost idly.

Sailor Jupiter scowls. “This is not about trust. This is about protection so that we do not have to rely on that trust.”

“It’s our duty,” Sailor Mercury says, almost inaudibly. It’s pure Mizuno Ami who meets my eyes. “Please.”

I shrug. “Be rest assured. As long as these issues are dealt with in a timely manner, your politics are none of our business.”

“But,” Michiru adds, her smile slipping into something more benign, “we do wish you well.”

Sailor Mercury flushes red again, and nods quickly.

The edges of Michiru’s smile soften into her usual dismissal. “If we ever meet under more auspicious circumstances, we should catch up over tea or coffee. Or perhaps in a swimming pool?”

Sailor Jupiter’s perplexity is almost as amusing as Sailor Mercury’s blushing smile. I wave; it’s either that or laugh. “Have a safe journey home. Please pass on our greetings to the Princess.”

We are gone before they can reply.

 

\-----

 

We make a quick stop to retrieve my discarded purchases on the park bench, then run.

“Drop them in the car,” Michiru murmurs, “I’ve paid for parking. We’ll pick it up later.”

“Good planning on our part that we had dealt with perishables this morning then, isn’t it? Skipping across rooftops with milk and carrots is so... plebeian.”

“As if you care about the social statuses of pastimes. Come now, stop wasting time and come run with me awhile under the eyes of the moon.”

I smirk as I oblige with due haste. It would not do to leave Michiru wanting. She has loved the night as for as long and as surely as I’ve loved the day; between the two of us we could have covered the world for time immemorial as we meet at dusk and dawn. Tonight, though, tonight is beautiful, beautiful enough for us berserkers to rattle our sanity and fear no reprisal.

“Our timing is so regrettably impeccable.” Michiru’s laugh is barely a breath, scaling the seventh fire escape ladder with an effortless leap. “That just as you’d approach the park, I’d pull into the parking space just across.”

“Maybe next time,” I assure. “Draws are not as common as we demonstrate them to be.”

“Or so you dream, my dear.”

We clear the last ladder and spring into the open sea of roofs beneath the insensate sky. Michiru turns to look at me as she backs towards the edge of our current landing. The tidal pulse is deep in her heartbeat, deep enough to pull honesty from mine. We do not dream, because if we do, if we drug ourselves hard enough on _what if_ and _what could have been_ , we would lose the war.

So we do not dream.

“I think Sailor Mercury has a crush on you,” I tell Michiru. It’s as good as any starting shot.

“As an underclassman would relate to an upperclassman,” Michiru replies primly as we leap across the roofs. “Such is how the intelligent connect, after all.” She glances at me, coy. “Jealous?”

I have to laugh. Undeniable, that. I’m not giving her the satisfaction of admitting that aloud, though.

Evidently she doesn’t need that satisfaction; she’s smirking. “So what do you make of their new song, dear?”

“That they will protect, blindly or no.”

“And?”

“And that they have earned their mistakes.” It’s not about trust, indeed. How very dangerous a sentiment to hold... “Speaking of new songs. How did you know your mirror would strip the oceanic aspect from your water?”

Michiru flicks her hair out of her face as her landing from a particularly long jump jolts her forward. The moon illuminates her like she is born with its blessing; I cannot help but lean in to steal a kiss as she opens her mouth. She pushes me away after only an unsatisfying brush of lips. “The Deep Aqua Mirror has the power to show weaknesses and draw them out. It stands to reason that it can revert the water to the stage before I put the ocean’s will into it and decrease its power to something more controllable by Sailor Mercury.”

“Yes, but how did you _know_? I’ve never seen you use this attack before.”

“Even if I hadn’t been fighting, I’ve been living with my connection to the oceans since well before anybody else had grown conscious of their powers.” She jumps again, a slip of shadow against the night that I chase awake and asleep. “I’ve had a lot of time to read and explore.”

“You’re not answering my question, love. Give me something simpler.”

We leap across another gap. “I can feel it. Just like how you know your Space Sword will cut through the bonds that hold the space-time fabric together.”

“...it does?”

She slants me a wry look. “Do you not commune with your weapon?”

“It’s a lot harder to use a sword in daily context than a mirror,” I tell her defensively. Which, upon reflection, perhaps isn’t the best move to make; Michiru responds to defence like a predator to vulnerable prey. It’s one of her stranger qualities, because she makes some of the most proficient strategic retreats I have ever witnessed.

Except she must be in a good mood tonight. “We could spar,” she offers, an undercurrent of mirth lilting her voice. “That will certainly give you opportunity enough to commune properly.”

The night air is glorious and my blood is still humming with the spillover of adrenaline. “You realize we’ll be more bruised from that than from our encounter.”

“Most probably,” she agrees. “So? Are we going to work on your abysmal speed tonight, Sailor Uranus? Third-best time only, I recall?”

“You’d better put more than the power of your punches behind that taunt, Sailor Neptune,” I retort, “because the last time you tried to hit me I thought you were tickling m—”

She laughs out loud, the sound ringing clearer than starlight, and tackles me off the roof.


	4. Chesed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was hoping to finish editing and posting this entire story before Sailor Moon Crystal's first episode aired. My success in that particular endeavour is evident...

If there is anything I will never tire of, it is watching Michiru surface. She rises like poetry, like absolution, like the end of the world and the beginning of the universe. It is a transcendent experience, every time.

“The winds have blown me an intent observer today,” Michiru remarks, water rippling about her shoulders as she drifts close to circle my ankle with a delicate grip. I’d dragged a beach chair to the edge of the deck to better dip my toes into the pool, a whim in which I seldom indulge. The waters are Michiru’s domain, and she values her space.

“Your swim was soothing?”

“Soothing enough. I still scheduled music practice for this evening, though.”

“Of course. Would you like me to play the accompaniment?”

“Unnecessary. Perhaps when I improve my grasp of the composition, and you yours.” She flashes me a smile and a kiss on my calf to presumably smooth out the brusque answer. “How was the tune-up?”

“As costly as always. Kameda-san charges well for his services.”

Her smile widens. “In other words, worth every yen he discounts for your support. And the track?”

“Edging too close to my reserves on the penultimate lap. I’ll need to rework my energy allotment tomorrow, maybe adjust my pacing. I still start sprinting too quickly.”

She hums nonchalantly against my leg. Warmth curls low in my belly, hungry. Michiru flicks up a glittering gaze, then presses another wet kiss at the side of my knee, and murmurs, “we may be welcoming guests later today.”

Unrepentant _tease_. “Is that so? Then I suppose we should sweep and dust off the cabinets before they take in the frightful state of your abode—”

“Considering the fact that you’d let most of the mess in question happen, you have no right to throw aspersions—”

“Aspersions! Is that what you call truths now? I’ll be buying you a proper dictionary and thesaurus set before our trip is done.”

She laughs, ascending from the pool in a glory of grace. “No reference book is going to save you from an hour or two of honest housework.”

“You or me both,” I grumble, but there’s no escaping it. “Would it be more efficient if we cooked lunch or ordered in?”

 

\-----

 

True to her words, the doorbell rings mid-afternoon. Michiru is moving before the first note has finished its run. “Usagi.” She sounds vaguely pleased. “And Makoto. And Luna-san! Good afternoon. Come in, please.”

The chorused greeting is nearly washed out by my dropping the dishes back into the sink. “We have pretty visitors? Shall I bring tea?”

“Milk would go better with the cakes they’d brought,” Michiru calls back.

“Our pretty visitors brought cakes?” Good thing we stocked up our refrigerator yesterday, then. The hand-painted rose teacups would suit the occasion nicely. I carry the tray out with a rueful smile. “That’s a formality I didn’t expect. Luna-san, it’s an honour to finally be acquainted with you in person.”

The black cat nods regally in response to my bow. “Haruka-san, a pleasure.” She accepts the plate of milk with an elegant poise that reminds me of Michiru’s violin, exquisite grace carved into its lines like a prayer offered by the devout. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Usagi and Makoto exchange a blushing glance.

Then Usagi turns towards me. “Mako-chan made the cakes this morning,” she bubbles. She hasn’t changed at all. “She’s an excellent cook!”

“Oh?” I smile at Makoto, who blushes even more brightly. “Such painstaking talents are beyond Michiru and I, unfortunately. We greatly admire those who have any skill with food.”

“It’s really nothing,” she says, hands waving frantically as the red on her cheeks intensify. “Here— please, have a taste. It’s chestnut angel cake and fresh strawberry tart.”

“Won’t you have some too?” Michiru proffers two plates, but Usagi shakes her head despite looking like she’d like to consume the entire box.

“This is for you.”

“There’s no need,” Luna confides in a stage whisper, “Usagi ate an entire cake before we came.” Usagi pouts at her in embarrassed affront.

“We don’t mind,” Michiru assures.

“You will when you eat it,” Usagi promises.

I have to smirk. “Well, then, how am I supposed to resist after such a ringing endorsement?” Makoto had done a spectacular job of decorating the pieces with buttercream and glaze. Michiru scoops a piece of chestnut cake from in front of me with a sly glance and a smile, which is just asking for me to cut into the tart on her plate in retaliation.

“Oh,” she says softly after a moment, but I miss the look on her face because I am too busy closing my eyes and savouring my own bite.

Summer is lighting up in my mouth, a playful mix of sweet and sour coupled with the delicate airiness of fresh-whipped cream and the buttery sheets of perfectly controlled flaking pastry. “If this is really nothing for you, Mako-chan, then you have a bright future as a baker should you pursue that career path.”

When I look up again, both Makoto and Usagi are crimson and avidly watching me. Luna looks equally admiring and sardonic. Michiru isn’t even trying to hide a smile behind her hand.

“What?” I glance at Michiru, startled.

“You are very appealing when... enjoying your food like that,” Michiru replies, laughter underwritten in her words. The girls burn redder, and remarkably, so does Luna.

I can’t stop a flush of my own. “It’s just a compliment well-deserved.”

“Then you’ll like the cake even more.” Michiru nudges the plate with her fork and gestures demonstratively – relatively speaking – towards the dessert in question. _It’s worth it_ , her smile says, or maybe, _I’ll make it worth your while_.

_You’d better._

She replies by lifting a forkful of strawberry tart about the same size as my bite of cake, a silent challenge tilting the corners of her lips. Fine. Fine—

The creamy chestnut layer spreads across my tongue in an explosion of luscious flavour. I have to close my eyes again to relish the smoky curls of the chestnuts, expertly roasted to maturity, and the way it blends into the delectable richness of full cream. It’s all I can do to hold back a moan; the sigh is all but involuntary.

Michiru doesn’t bother hiding her laugh this time. A flash of memory: that very same laugh wreathing about us as we fall, Michiru’s form striking in the cold lunar glow, landing blows with the deft precision of a neurosurgeon, absorbing and disregarding attacks like a cataract, as the ever-free attempts to pin down that which cannot be pressured—

I scowl at her, just _knowing_ that my blush is something to behold. Even the sternest of thespian teachers would have approved of the mildness in Michiru’s expression, were it not for the minute twitching at the corner of her lips and the darkening of her eyes—

I look away before the heat in my cheeks can set my face afire. Usagi and Makoto are staring at us in rapt fascination, faces fit to stop traffic. Luna appears to have laid down out of sheer exasperation. “Well. Have you ladies enjoyed yourselves now that your exams are over?”

“Y-yes! Yes, we have!”

“We heard about your win on the circuit last week, Haruka-san. Congratulations!”

“It must be difficult, having so much media trained on you,” Luna muses.

“Difficult?” Usagi exclaims. “But that’s every girl’s dream! To have so much love and attention given to you!”

Michiru laughs. “It’s not so bad. The media is very used to our frequent working holidays.”

“And our publicity directors are marvels with gating the press. But come! Tell us about yourselves. Such lovely girls as you must have very busy social calendars.”

Inexplicably, Usagi flushes, glancing at her companion. Makoto is wearing a strange, faint smile. “You’ll have to forgive us for being a little overwhelmed, Haruka-san. This is the first time you’ve asked us an open-ended question that wasn’t rhetorical or battle-related since we found out about each other’s powers. We’ve missed being your friends.”

“Would you like another open-ended question?” Michiru says without missing a beat. “How did you know we would be in?”

Usagi ducks her head. “Well, er, we asked Chibi-Usa’s Luna-P if you were home and available.”

“The little princess? She’s a resourceful one.” Has Setsuna ever mentioned such a device before?

Michiru smiles lightly. “What warrants such a premeditated visit?”

The girls colour again, but Usagi’s determination is unmistakeable. “We’ve planned a retreat at the Hakone shrine for the weekend two weeks from now. We came to invite you to join us.”

I glance at Michiru to find a mirror image of my cocked eyebrow. “I don’t mean to be impolite,” says Michiru, “but why?”

Makoto straightens surreptitiously. “Because we never really did make up after Mugen’s destruction before you left town.”

“And we’re done fighting!” Usagi stares at us with uncharacteristic challenge. After a few moments, though, it melts into a more familiar sort of pleading. “It’s just for two days, and Rei-chan says the place is gorgeous!”

“You speak as if we have already decided to decline,” Michiru observes.

“We just really want you to come,” Makoto concedes, “so we came prepared.”

“Mako-chan,” Usagi says exasperatedly, “that’s not how you tell them you don’t want them to say no.”

Makoto waves a hand at Usagi. “We’d just finished exams after all, and we need to de-stress,” she adds, eyes boring into mine with transparent will. “Rest is the first step to that, isn’t it, Haruka-san?”

My eyebrow arches of its own accord in amusement. Well played, Kino. “How fortunate it is that we’d already finished our most pressing errands, then.”

“Is that a yes?” Usagi says, practically radiating hope.

“I don’t see the harm,” Michiru says gracefully. “If you could provide further details?”

Usagi jumps to her feet with a resounding cheer, then freezes mid-leap. “Oh, _no_. Um! I said I’d meet Rei-chan at four! I’m really sorry—”

“Usagi!” Luna groans.

“You’d better run.” Makoto glances up, presumably at the mantle clock behind us, and shakes her head. “I’ll brief them and help with the cleanup.”

Michiru smiles as she stands. “I’ll walk you down, Usagi.”

“Thank you so much!” Usagi bounds towards the door, then pauses. “Luna?”

“Mako-chan can take me back home. I’m not interested in listening to Rei-chan yell at you over your unfinished math exercises for the next two hours.”

“They’re hard, okay? Let’s see you try finishing some of them!”

“Go,” Makoto says pointedly. With a final tongue-stuck-out gesture of disdain for Luna and a wave for Makoto and I, Usagi ducks out of sight, and footsteps later, out the door as well.

“The elevators are in the other direction,” Michiru calls, just before the front door cuts off Usagi’s sheepish giggles.

“You don’t have to help,” I tell Makoto, “you’re a guest here. All the more so, as you’ve brought us cakes to sin for.”

“I’d like to. Please.”

“All right. The kitchen’s this way. Tea?”

Every part of the apartment is exceedingly lovely, as all of Michiru’s dwellings are wont to be, furnished with proper accoutrements in every room. It’s no surprise that Makoto and Luna would spend a full minute taking in the kitchen with glazed expressions. “Wow,” Makoto finally exclaims, “this is high-quality stuff! I wouldn’t have guessed that you can’t cook!”

“Your appliances are practically in mint condition,” Luna breathes. “How do you keep them so clean?”

I throw them a wry smile over my shoulder as I turn on the tap. “We rarely cook, that’s how. Our meals are very simple.” When we have time to actually eat in the apartment, that is. “Thank you,” I add, when Makoto takes up position by my side to rinse and dry the dishes. Luna curls up on a chair, watching us with thoughtful eyes.

We work in companionable silence. When Makoto is drying the last of the forks, I fish out a notepad and pen. “Why don’t you write down the information and the preparatory work we’ll need to undertake, and I’ll put the dishes away in the meantime?”

“Rei-chan’s worked out the details of our lodgings, but we’re responsible for groceries. We’ll be scheduling shopping trips sometime within these two weeks, so speak up if you’re partial to something!”

“We aren’t picky eaters. Although you won’t need to account for me if you’re distributing portions of natto.” If they’re budgeting as regular middle-schoolers, I doubt they’ll get anything Michiru won’t touch.

“And activities? Rei-chan has official business at the shrine, but we should have some free time.”

“We are easily entertained.” Rose tea wouldn’t be remiss at this point.

It is only after I finish retrieving the tea leaves in question that I can properly identify the quality of Makoto’s silence. “Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem, precisely.” Makoto taps the pen absently. “Just... a curiosity. More or less.”

“Mmh. Perhaps we can trade a curiosity for curiosity?” It would be a waste of energy, at this point, to deny that the girls have piqued my interest yet again.

She gives me a quick look from beneath her eyelashes, then straightens like she is bracing herself. “Why not. You first, Haruka-san.”

“Oh, no, you are my guest—”

“Please. I insist.”

I blink at the kettle, fighting a frown. “All right, then.” I turn to give them the most even look I can manage. “How badly injured is Tsukino Usagi?”

“Injured—?” Luna exclaims, fur leaping upright in a quick swathe down her back.

Makoto stares at me, then at Luna, in honest bewilderment and growing alarm. “She’s hurt?! Luna, do you know anything about this?”

“Nothing that I could see. Do you—?”

“Not as far as I’m aware of. Usagi was just fine whenever she was with us. Haruka-san, what do you mean, how badly is Usagi hurt? I—”

“Calm down. Please.” Now that’s even more confusing. “So she’s not hurt.”

“She wouldn’t hide it from us if she were, unless— Haruka-san, _please_. You know what, hold on, my communicator—”

“Whoa! No, wait, you misunderstand. I’m inquiring after the Princess’s health, not informing you about it! I’d only thought that she might not be in top form, if she’s not fighting with you. If you say that she isn’t hurt, then I would believe you. I didn’t think—...”

Both Makoto and Luna had collapsed into identical heaps of undisguised relief. “You scared me, Haruka-san!” Makoto gasps. “Why would you say that?”

“I didn’t intend to do so. I apologize for my presumptions.” Unaccountable irritation wars with nonplus; it is easily hidden when I hand her the tea. If the Princess is unharmed, and fully recovered... “Allow me to rephrase my question, then. What inspired you to fight with a handicap?”

“It was my idea, to try fighting without a full team.” Makoto broods into her cup. “Sometime earlier in the fight against the Death Busters, I’d taken a quick trip to isolate myself and train alone. And I was able to become stronger, in the end, but I didn’t achieve that just by myself. They came to back me up, and their support, as much as my own hard work, gave me strength. They taught me about how to fight my own battle as part of a team.

“The corollary, though, is that the team is always there in the thick of trouble. And I kept thinking, can’t we improve on this? You and Michiru-san, you use the minimum amount of energy needed to achieve your goals in fights. Can’t we manage a middle ground where we can reserve ourselves too, and make ourselves more effective this way, if things do get worse?”

How reckless. Still, it’s not as bad as it could have been; they seemed to have tried to accounted for failures, and mapped out each other’s locations. “And how would you have dealt with a situation that developed beyond your control?”

“We call in the rest of the team.”

This session is going nowhere; Kino Makoto is surprisingly opaque. A new angle, then. “So you decided to cripple yourselves by excluding your strongest fighter? I can’t imagine your Princess will be very happy when she learns of your close call.” In the park, if Sailor Mercury had been alone, if Sailor Jupiter had been even thirty seconds later...

She bristles, then sighs. “She knows, now. We weren’t all that comfortable hiding it from any of us in the first place, much less her, but we all agreed to do it at least once. To be on the ignorant part. Ami has the schedule worked out, but the rest of us don’t know who it will be next.”

She grins, wry. “We had to try, you know? It’s one thing to have the entire team present but not involved, and another to not have the entire team there at all. It’s more final, you know? You have no choice but to fight alone. I wanted to see if there was a difference.”

“And did you find one?”

“I’m not sure. I think so.”

“I see. I suggest preparing more backups next time, to limit the possibility of collateral. You don’t have the power—” or the preparation “—to lower such risk to an acceptable level.”

She glances at Luna, then looks at me steadily for long moment. “You think we’re soft,” she finally says.

“With all due respect,” I reply with the same steadiness, “yes. You are soft.”

Makoto scowls. “With all due respect, Haruka-san, you’re patronizing.”

“So you would rather suffer injuries? Can you afford to make that kind of decision for the Princess?”

“I would rather you respect us!” She shoves up and stalks away, then whirls around and stalks back, temper almost sparking in the restless viridian of her eyes. “We’re not children, Haruka-san, and we’re not civilians! We have our own goals and our own desires and our own battles to fight. We don’t need you to protect us from that.”

“You don’t know yet what we would all need to—”

“So now you think you know what we need, too?” she snaps, then takes a breath through gritted teeth. The way she moves when she sits back down screams of suppressed violence. “Look. I know you mean well. I know you do. But we’re also Sailor Soldiers, guarding the same Solar System. We too know how to fight.”

Counting to twenty backwards in English during her little speech hadn’t helped, so I take the liberty to count forward to thirty in multiples of three before I attempt to answer. “Now? Perhaps, a little. At the start? You had _no idea_ what you were up against.” No good. I’m still growling. Too bad. “We are at _war_ , Kino. Why would we waste time sealing your movements? The only time we ever interfered was when you were going to injure yourselves in battles beyond your level.”

“Pardon my language, Haruka-san,” Makoto says, very clearly, “but that’s bullshit.”

My eyes narrow.

“If you wanted us unhurt, you would have pushed us away the moment we showed up, or, hell, even tried to _communicate_ with us. But you only ever interfered when it seems like the Death Busters were about to win the Heart Crystals!”

“She has you there,” Michiru chuckles. I glare at her too. Makoto is still barely recovering from her shock, clearly caught off guard by her silent re-entry into the apartment. Luna is much more subtle; two lashes of her tail and she’s still again, a waiting pool.

Michiru walks in to lean against the stove, unperturbed by the tension in the air. “But Haruka has the right of it, too. We didn’t take away any of your choices or ability to act.”

“Michiru-san,” Luna says quietly, “with all due respect, if you see somebody as an obstacle to your goals, you’d infringe upon some of their ranges of motion and choices to make them no longer obstacles.”

“Yes. But you were an obstacle only when you were about to yield the enemy an advantage. Until you became one, we had no reason to interfere.”

“So if we weren’t precisely enemies, why couldn’t we be _allies_ instead?” Makoto makes a noise of infinite frustration. “That’s my question. We fought together just fine in the park, didn’t we? If we worked together, surely we could have stopped the Death Busters without risking anybody’s lives!”

Michiru smiles like a knife. “If the Death Busters hadn’t found the technology to extract Heart Crystals, we would have developed it ourselves.” Makoto jerks back as though she’d been stabbed. “If we were to work together, would you have compromised your values with respect to ours?”

Silence.

“I didn’t think so.” Michiru drapes a hand on the counter with finality, oceanic eyes flat. “It’s not so simple, isn’t it.”

“Are you proud of yourselves?” Makoto whispers, when the silence stretches beyond bearing. “Of what you did? Of what you would do?”

Pride? She speaks of _pride_? “Are you?”

“Yes. I am.” She draws herself up, thunder in her expression. “We might doubt ourselves, and we might lose our way, but we’re not ashamed. We are soldiers of justice and love.”

Michiru’s fingertips flick up, stopping my words on my tongue. _Wait._

Quite unexpectedly, Makoto sags. “And it gives us no right to judge you, too.”

Luna uncurls and winds about her arms, peering up at her with naked worry in her eyes. “Mako-chan,” she says quietly.

“But it’s true, Luna.” Makoto rubs her face and gathers Luna close. “I think... I don’t know what to think. I don’t even know if it matters to you, whether or not you’re proud.”

Strangely, that’s enough for the knot in my throat to loosen. “Yes. We are proud.”

Makoto shakes her head, much like she’d done so with Usagi. “I still don’t understand. None of us do. But,” and she grimaces, “if I haven’t antagonized you into changing your mind about attending the retreat, I hope we will understand each other a little more after our trip together.”

“It takes more than a rousing discussion to dissuade us,” Michiru says, tossing me an arch glance.

“That’s one way to put it,” Makoto snorts. “Thank you for your hospitality, and your forbearance. I think I should take my leave before I wear our welcome out entirely.”

“Oh, we could use more stimulating conversationalists in our lives than you would think. But we do have evening plans, so I’m afraid it would be best if we part for today. Shall I walk you down, as well?”

“It’s fine. But thank you for your offer. We’ll be in contact about the shopping schedule. Have a good day.”

Still, Michiru sees them to the door as I do my best to put away the tea set without breaking it. I’m so concentrated that Michiru’s embracing arms make me jerk.

“You incorrigible racer,” she says with laughing exasperation, “one day your inability to resist a challenge will land you in trouble you can’t resolve.”

“I’m a professional competitor.” Hollow words, hollow voice. When had I become so tired? “What did you expect?”

“A little more restraint, for one. She did very well with her questioning, didn’t she?”

I smile reluctantly, leaning into her warmth. “Yes, she did. I didn’t expect them to allow us home ground to lower our defences.” Though I wouldn’t have pushed my guest’s rights the same way she had. That Kino Makoto had done so with such deft confidence... “She had my mark too well. The point goes to her for this round, doesn’t it?”

“Mmh. Leaving them an unguarded exit from the kitchen was the least I could do.” She laughs, softly. “Despite their talents, they still don’t know what it means to fight a war.”

No. They don’t know what it means to consider everything a potential resource, a potential target, a potential factor in every fight. To ask us of pride, of all things... of course we’re proud. What do they think pride translates to, on a battlefield, in a war that never ends? It’s all we have left.

One of the first lessons I had learned, upon taking up the power of the galaxy’s forces, was to draw lines. I drew many, in my early days. Do not stand down against bullies and misogynists; their actions are not to be respected or ignored. Do not fail any subject in school or abandon hobbies, no matter how busy or uninterested or famous or rich I become; reliance on material wealth and excuses are unacceptable burdens. Do not neglect the body or the mind; a soldier cannot afford to allow her greatest weapons to grow dull. Do not be frivolous with favours; that’s asking for complications. Do not be cruel. Do not forego mercy, but do not confuse it with kindness, or when to extend either. Do not forget the text and colour and direction of any of my spun lies. Do not neglect civilian duties and habits. Do not do harm where unnecessary. And so on.

It hadn’t been so very long ago when I had set those ambitious boundaries for myself, so very long ago enough that I had forgotten how it had felt to have moved them and crossed them myself, one by bitter one, until only the last of them, the bleeding hearts of them, remain. Lines define, along with lies; they reveal the limits set and the scales skewed. It’s a simple enough codex of the soul for those with eyes to see.

I know of Michiru’s lines as well as I do of the leylines in the ocean; that is, as well as an educated guess that likely to be more accurate than pure estimation, but not with any guarantee of precision. But I know this unquestionable truth: for our mission, we would let go of everything. As the winds embrace me and the oceans grace me with their blessings, I know this much. We would let go. We would.

But until we do, they are our lines still, and they are not to be crossed. Not for anything. That is our pride.

How many lines had they stripped away themselves, these Inner System warriors? How many, to know when to cross one without hesitation, or to know when to stand firm? The battles had been growing more and more desperate. How much room for error did they realize they had lacked, that one hesitation could cost us the entire war?

I sigh. “You didn’t tell her of our interference in their battles.”

“Of _your_ interference, you mean. I have never moved first to help them reverse the tide where the Heart Crystals weren’t concerned.” She hooks her chin over my shoulder. “Should I have told her that you were telling the truth, too?”

“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t do it for their acknowledgement, or their thanks.”

“I didn’t think so. She admires you, you know. Kino Makoto.”

A laugh bubbles from my belly, inexplicably resigned. “Is it that obvious?”

“About as obvious as Mizuno Ami is to your eyes. At some point that girl had probably idolized you, too. You do inspire that in people.”

“Do I.”

“It’s not your fault,” Michiru says softly. “All gods fall. She will grow from the pain of realizing that.”

“As did we all.”

“As did we all.” Never has the apartment felt more alien, even with Michiru grounding me. I could shiver out of my own skin, even with all that we have now...

“Well,” Michiru sighs at length, “if we are to attend their weekend function, then I think I shall wish for your accompaniment this evening on the piano after all, and for the next few practices as well. We don’t have much time.”

Right. Focus. “We’ll have to move some appointments if we’re to spend more time at the pool and in the studio.” The financial advisor, two record label representatives, three potential sponsors, an advertising agent, Kameda-san, Yomi-san, Yanagisaki-san— “Is your meeting with Katsuragi-san urgent?”

“It’s more time sensitive than the contract renegotiations with Universal Music Japan. I’ll ask Miki-san and Jou-san to reschedule. But first,” and she turns me around, mischief sparking heat in her eyes, “I did promise you something interesting for your demonstrative appreciation of the desserts, didn’t I?”

Well. At least our trip back won’t be boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Makoto had lived on her own as a minor since her parents’ death by plane crash, she would have had to first fend off Japanese child services attempting to put her in foster homes (or at the very least with a guardian), unless she’d somehow slipped through the system. I figured that either way, she wouldn’t stand for any paternalizing gestures.
> 
> The part about fallen gods is inspired by John Steinbeck’s East of Eden.


End file.
